Red Hands
by Let Love In
Summary: Draco Malfoy, having recently witnessed his father's murder, is shaken when the Dark Lord himself asks him for a favor. Things take a deadly turn when the trio's curiousity gets the best of them. AU 6th year, T for language and certain situations.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I published this story about a year ago under the name "Wash This Blood Clean From My Hands". I really liked the concept but I hated the writing and I've decided to rewrite it. I'm just going to warn you now, it may seem very similar to the sixth book within the first few chapters, but I assure you it isn't. It does take place in the sixth year, though. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!**

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><p>The confined Hogwarts train compartment was absolutely silent. And not that comfortable silence that sometimes occurred in the cubicle on the way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where visions of the Great Hall, Sorting Hat ceremony and feast occupied the young teens' minds. No, the silence was far from ordinary.<p>

Harry Potter sat solemnly, only fidgeting his limbs if they grew uncomfortable or restless. Ever since last year, Harry wasn't too sure about returning to the school he had considered his home since he was just a small preteen, eager and willing to figure out the wizarding world. No, he had grown far from that curious boy, that naïve boy.

He wanted to fight, and he wanted to fight _now_. Anger and malice raged inside of him as the vision of Bellatrix Lestrange, wand in her veiny hand, danced before his eyes. And then there was Sirius… a tender knot formed in his stomach when his godfather's name so much as flashed through his mind. He quickly attempted to think of something else.

Beside him, Hermione Granger sat, crunched together with Ron Weasley on the small bench that seemed so spacious just a few years prior. Hermione's bushy hair was unkempt and frazzled, as always, and her expression thoughtful. That was the only expression she seemed to possess these days, anyway. Always thinking ahead, never halting for just one moment.

Even Ron Weasley seemed to be pondering something, for his face was crumpled together in concentration. His fingers tapped impatiently upon his jittery knees and the red of his gingery hair didn't seem to shine as it used to. His little sister sat directly across from him, and she sported the same expression on her face. They were more similar than they would have liked to admit.

Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom sat opposite of the trio, breaking the silence as they spoke quietly, reading a herbology magazine. Neville's brow was creased in that oh-so-familiar manner while he muttered something to the blonde, whose face was serene and vacant like always. Harry would always wonder how she kept such a calm demeanor when everything around her was utter chaos. Hermione and Ron simply glanced at them while Harry's eyes wouldn't stay in one place. They bounced off of every wall, and, finally, rested on the outside world zooming past. Blotches of bright green blurred as the train chugged on, lurching and burping like an old car on a dirt road.

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><p>Draco Malfoy clutched his stomach a few compartments down the hall while he tried his best to keep his lunch down. His cronies didn't seem to notice his face grow pale and his fingers dig deeper into the cloth of his black robe. Crabbe and Goyle laughed as they picked the legs off of a chocolate frog one by one, watching it squirm in discomfort.<p>

"Ha ha, look a'it!" boomed Crabbe, as the frog made a squelching croak. Draco wasn't paying attention. His eyes were glassed over in deep thought as his mind roamed the nooks and enclaves of his summer, the worst summer of his life.

He tried everything to forget it. But nothing he did mattered; the feeling of his father's grip on his arm was still fresh in his mind, as if it was still there, begging and shaking. The blood in his veins curdled when his mind wandered to that shadowy, enclosed place.

And then like a fish out of water, Draco remembered how the grip had gone limp and his father's white hand slithered lifelessly to the floor. In the train compartment, Draco carefully rolled up his sleeve and examined his pallid arm. Those fingerprints were permanently etched onto his skin, and they burned him like a hot iron.

His knuckles turned white when his mind drifted back to the dead silence in the room after the incident. His own living room. People of all sorts occupied it, yet if Draco were to close his eyes, it wouldn't seem like any of them were there. That's when he looked up at _him_. The man's eyes burned scarlet as they looked down at the body; he smiled. The whisper of his hissing voice was enough to make the hairs on Draco's body stand erect and goose pimples cover his appendages.

Everything was permanently carved into his memory. The way that serpent-like mouth beamed down at him as he explained what was going to happen next; the way that awful man's lips curled around the word "_kill_" like it was a delicious hard candy. It made Draco cringe.

"Eh?" came a voice from next to him. He looked up to see Goyle, who pointed towards the compartment door with one pudgy finger. "The train's stopped."

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><p>Harry, Hermione and Ron stepped out of the train and hopped onto the first carriage, still silent. Everyone else around them seemed completely unscathed while they chatted happily, discussing the new first years and their class schedules. The three wondered if they would ever speak so lightheartedly ever again after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Harry swallowed the giant lump in his throat that threatened to cause his eyes to swell and water with fresh tears. He was back at Hogwarts, but he felt like he was returning to a world that wanted so desperately to kick him out that it was willing to harm every single person he was close to.<p>

Next to Harry, Ginny sighed slowly while looking up at the abundant castle that loomed in the distance. He didn't neglect to notice that their arms were touching. A fluttering feeling in his stomach raised his spirits gently, but not enough.

The mood altered a little more when they entered the Great Hall. It was decorated from floor to ceiling with bright colors, fancy drapes, and golden silverware. The house ghosts floated to and fro, greeting familiar faces and tipping their hats (or in Sir Nicholas's case, heads) off to the teachers. It wasn't long until the Sorting Hat Ceremony began, and for once, the trio wasn't interested whatsoever.

"Acker, Maggie!" called Professor McGonagall, as the first of the newcomers nervously tiptoed up the steps and sat on the stool. Hermione and Ron laughed a little as the girls eyes widened dramatically when the Sorting Hat fit snugly around her head. He whispered to her furtively as the rest of the hall looked on.

"SLYTHERIN!" it shouted triumphantly. The girl looked rather shocked as the Slytherin table erupted into applause. Her wobbly legs carried her over to the table, where she squeezed herself between two second years. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of impatience.

"Me mum bought me a new wand this year!" Seamus Finnigan whispered to the table ("Albertson, Peter!") as he brandished a thin wand. "Made from a willow tree, it is. Strand of unicorn hair in there, too!"

Harry smiled to himself. It was things like this that he had definitely missed over the summer. Ever since the forming of Dumbledore's Army last year, he almost felt as if he was missing out on something… missing out on being a kid.

Everyone 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed as Seamus twirled his wand around his fingers foolishly, and then the onlookers excitedly whispered for him to try it out ("HUFFLEPUFF!"). With some hesitation, he pointed the wand at his water goblet and quietly stuttered "_Evanesco_!"

The Gryffindor table held in their gasps as half of Seamus' cup vanished, leaving the right half still and intact. Water dribbled onto the table as Professor McGonagall called yet another first-year name, staring at her house table with a look of tremendous annoyance. Harry could barely stop himself from laughing as McGonagall stared daggers at Seamus, who attempted to dry water off the front of his robes.

Several Slytherins grunted and rolled their eyes at the Gryffindor table, some making rude comments while others just stared with pointed looks. Draco Malfoy, for once, was not one of those Slytherins. He stared down as his empty plate, ignoring the obvious disruption.

"Breckenridge, Robert!" shrieked McGonagall as Seamus tried the Transfiguration spell on another cup.

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><p>After the Sorting Hat ceremony, Draco ate silently and quickly, hoping to make an escape to the Slytherin dormitories before anyone could talk to him. But to no such luck.<p>

"Draco!" came a sickeningly saccharine voice. He looked up to see Pansy Parkinson, chewing a large wad of gum as she stared at him intensely. He didn't respond. She twisted her squished pug-face into a frown.

"So I heard about… what happened," she said in a tone that was supposedly sentimental.

"Did you?" he asked scathingly, looking down at his grubby, calloused fingers. She continued to talk, but he let it flow smoothly in one ear and out the other. He examined the veins in his hand that protruded against the skin, the tiny blonde hairs on his knuckles, and the paleness of his fingers. His hands looked so… pure. Was he even capable of murder? He cringed when he thought back to that moment in his living room. Fretfully, he stood, interrupting Pansy's one-sided conversation. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

After that night, everything seemed to be falling back into its usual place; teachers had already begun assigning projects, the Quidditch teams were booking practices on the field, and for people like Draco Malfoy, letters were arriving from home. Most of them were reminders, while others were dripping with pleas and begs from his own mother. "_Do as your father would have wanted_," said the letters. Draco threw each of these letters into the fireplace upon arrival, and made sure to watch them crackle and crumble into ashes every time.

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><p>Within the first week of school, teachers had already begun cracking down on the sixth years. Projects assigned, the trio barely had the time to talk to each other anymore. Every dinner in the Great Hall was spent studying, as was every breakfast. Lunch was often skipped, and spent in the common room.<p>

"It's good groundwork for our N.E.W.T.S.," explained Hermione one day as they hurried towards the common room, piles of books in their quivering arms. "I'm actually glad they're preparing us early."

Ron and Harry looked at her incredulously. "We still have another year to prepare!" Ron reminded her harshly.

"She's right, you know," the Fat Lady said all-knowingly, crossing her pudgy arms.

"Flobberworms," Ron said, ignoring her. Indignantly, she swung open and allowed the three to enter the common room, which was rather packed with students, most of them with their _Advanced Potion-Making _books lying in front of them.

Slughorn had recently assigned them a project that was supposed to take almost all semester. Although they weren't to work on the projects in class, the assignment was to pick a difficult potion (denoted by the number of dark black skulls next to their names) and perfect it. Towards Christmastime, everyone in the class would present their potion, provide a sample, and read their reports.

"This bloody project is going to be the death of me," Ron complained as they squeezed onto a couch with Harry and Hermione. Simultaneously, they all began flipping through their ruddy, old textbooks. "Honestly, what kind of nutter assigns something like this? People could be killed!"

"How?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Oh, I don't know Harry, how about this one?" Ron pointed a freckled finger at the yellow textbook page. The words _Mors Mortis_ stained the sheet in jet-black lettering, and there were four skulls next to the name. "It's a poison that slowly eats away at your insides! _Eats away_! Why would something like this be in a textbook? We could be killed!"

"That's preposterous, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "Slughorn told us of the ones we weren't allowed to brew. Plus, look at the ingredient list for it…"

They all peered down at Ron's book to see an ingredient list that was twice as long as most of the other ones in _Advanced Potion-Making_, which included several items that were almost impossible to find.

"Some idiot is going to try and brew that," Ron said with a trembling, accusatory lip. "I just _know it_."

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks before rolling their eyes.

"What, you don't believe me? Well, fine. Don't come complaining to me when one of you _dies_," Ron muttered, clearly dejected. "What potion are you even doing, Hermione? That recipe is almost as bad as _Mors Mortis_."

"It's a mind reading potion. I'm not quite sure if these directions are right, though… says I need the innards of _twelve_ horned spewing slugs!" she exclaimed, scrunching up her face into a frown. No one could blame her, either. Not only did the slugs live up to their name (horned, and they spewed green goo through two holes in their underbellies), but they were at least three feet long, with gaping, drooling mouths. "But it's a fascinating potion, really. You drink half of it, and slip the rest into someone's food or drink, and be able to hear their thoughts for up to five minutes!"

Ron gave her a strange look, as if he was wondering if she would use it on him. Harry, however, wasn't listening as he flipped through the pages of his tattered Potions book, stopping just a few times when a title caught his eye.

"What are you thinking of brewing, Harry?" Ron asked, hoping to possibly get an idea from him.

"I've no idea…. I'm stuck between a sleeping draught and… well" – Harry suddenly looked sheepish – "a love potion of some sorts."

"Amortentia?" Hermione asked quizzically, thumbing through her own book as Ron laughed to himself.

"I guess," Harry told her, reading through the directions.

"A _love _potion?" Ron asked, elbowing Harry in the ribcage. "Don't go all soft on me now, Harry."

"I'm not!" Harry replied sharply. "It's just… it looks easier than most of them."

"Suuure," said Ron, before he turned his attention back to _Advanced Potion-Making_. Just then, Ginny had entered the common room, which caused Harry to grin almost instantly. His cheeks pushed against the lower rim of his glasses when she waved to him, and thankfully Ron didn't seem to notice Harry's new shade of red.

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><p>In addition to schoolwork, Harry and Ron were buzzing about Quidditch as well. The first match of the season was just days away, and it was practically all they could talk about. One moment, they were quarreling about game strategy and the next they were laughing about a team member.<p>

"You'd think that McLaggen would have the decency to leave me alone, eh?" Ron began one evening as after a particularly rigorous practice. Like a feline, he stretched out on the common room couch and yawned before continuing, "He's on the team, too. And to think you almost didn't let him… I would have been a bloody pulp by now. He _hates _me, mate."

"Probably because you're better than him," said Harry simply as he scribbled something on a parchment. "Just ignore 'im. People like McLaggen are all talk."

Hermione, who had been listening to their Quidditch squabbles since tryouts, was getting a little sick of being left out of the conversation. She stood abruptly and peered up at the clock on the wall. She was a few minutes early, but it didn't really matter.

"I'm going to go make my rounds," she stated bluntly as she straightened her prefect badge on her robes and headed out the door, being sure to turn a cold cheek towards the boys before they could say a word otherwise.

The hallways were deserted, as they always were at this time of night. Despite the fact that most were seemingly unconvinced of the dangers in the wizarding world now that You-Know-Who was back, they still stayed clear of the hallways anyway. There was a definite eeriness to the castle when the moon came out of its hiding place, and shone its light through the rustling trees outside. It gave Hermione the creeps as she bounded down a large corridor, her hair flying wildly behind her due to her increased pace. She walked so fast that she barely noticed Draco Malfoy hurdling around the corner. A loud _smack_ sounded in the air as they collided, causing Hermione to scream and several portraits to 'shush' her. Draco stared at her blankly.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked him incredulously, brushing off the front of her robes. She was fully expecting him to make some snide comment about her Muggle-born roots, or about her hair, or anything. But instead he just stared at her, not even a frown on his face. "Gryffindor prefects have rounds on Monday nights, didn't you know?"

He had almost forgotten that he was a prefect. Shaking out of his daze, he glared at her. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Just go back to your dormitory! What're you doing out here, anyway?" she asked him in confusion. He looked so befuddled that for a moment, she actually thought she could have a normal conversation with him.

"Don't worry about it," said Draco tersely. Uncomfortable, he shifted his weight from side to side.

"It's dangerous at night, you know," she said matter-of-factly.

"I said don't worry about it," he repeated. His arms were crossed tightly, and it was so dark that Hermione barely noticed one of his hands was stuffed inside his black robes. He was clutching his wand so hard that he was sure it would snap in two. Hermione gave him a wary look before sidestepping him.

"You should go back," she said authoritatively, before walking quickly past him. She didn't know why, but something about him not even bothering to insult her was… unnerving. Feeling anxious, she quickly made her way around the castle before heading back to the dormitories, eager to tell Ron and Harry about her strange encounter.

Much to her disappointment, they had already retired to their beds when she returned.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm sorry it wasn't the most eventful chapter. Let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I know it's a little slow but I've got big plans for this story, they're just taking a little while to unfold. I hope you enjoy!**

_There's no one around,_ he thought to himself. _I could just do it, right here. It could be so easy._

He stared at the impatient girl in front of him, arms crossed with a puzzled look on her face. He even waited for more than a moment after she briskly passed by him. He could whip around and hit her in the back, she would never see it coming…

But instead, he let go of the tight grip he had on his wand, and began walking towards the Slytherin dormitories. He couldn't do it tonight. He had plenty of time, right? Furtively, he snuck back into the commons and up to his bed, where he slipped under the covers silently. The snores of his bunkmates kept him awake if only for a moment, but he hadn't been sleeping lately and nothing could stop him from sliding into a fitful rest.

"_I need you to do something for me. A… task, if you may." The voice ripped through the silent air, and it seemed to echo for a few moments before it fell dead once again. The boy stared down at his knees and didn't say a word. Instead, he sat on that couch that had once felt so inviting, but was now rigid underneath his unmoving body. The man in front of him seemed to frown a little, and his blood-red eyes grew even cloudier._

"_This is not a question of whether you would like to or not," the voice bluntly told him. Other men and women in black cloaks and hoods murmured harshly to each other._

_The boy cleared his throat a little, not even sure if he would be able to talk. He tried his best to keep his eyes on his trembling hands, but they somehow veered off course to stare at the dead body at his feet._

"_What is the task, my… Lord?" the boy replied as strong as he could. The sound of the word "Lord" was fresh and strange on his tongue. He didn't like it at all. The man before him smiled; his lips were thin and they cracked when they parted to reveal teeth that had definitely seen better days. He always seemed so utterly pleased when he heard the word "Lord" being directed towards him. Sliding his tongue over his pointy teeth, he stared down at the boy._

"_I need you," the man began, his tone dripping with impiousness and desire, "to kill."_

Draco woke up in a cold, streaming sweat. He sat up abruptly and looked around, relieved to find that he was still in his dormitory, where he felt he had just snuck into just moments before. Had he really been asleep for so long? Feeling rather nauseous, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood, wobbling a little. He wished that he could go back to the way it was, when this didn't happen often, and when his sleep was usually thoughtless and undisturbed. But the nightmares never left him. He wondered why these nightly visions were becoming less dreamy and more like a memory.

He had this one often, though. It was almost an exact replica of the moment when the Dark Lord inquired a favor, but this nightmare seemed to last for much longer than the memory itself. Mumbling to himself, he paced around his dormitory for a few moments, careful to keep his steps light so he didn't wake the drooling brutes around him. After a few moments, he sat down on his bed with a _thunk _and buried his face in his cracked hands.

_How did I get here?_ he wondered to himself as his fingers slowly moved across his smooth forehead and into his hair. He felt an overwhelming sense of paranoia in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help it. Suspicion was his right-hand mate, always following behind him, hidden around corners, coming out when he least expected it.

Flopping back onto the bed, Draco slipped his hand under the second pillow and grasped his fingers around a smooth, metal surface. He pulled it out from under the case; a small, silver pocketknife with the initials _A.D.M_. Abraxas Draco Malfoy… it had belonged to his grandfather. He died when Draco was ten, from dragon pox, but Lucius had told him that his grandfather planned to hand this down to Draco when he entered his first year at Hogwarts.

He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, before taking a good look at the Slytherin emblem on it. Cunning, witty, astute… that's what a Slytherin was supposed to be, right? So why did he feel like a coward? He clasped his fingers around the case of the knife once again before slipping the blade out and examining it. A green aura surrounded the edge, causing Draco's face to glow a little as he stared down at it. It was a tiny knife, but Draco knew it had some magical properties to it. He just had no idea what they were... he hadn't tried it out yet.

Retracting the blade, he pushed it under his pillow once again. Sometimes, it made him feel a little better to clutch it in his hands and feel the cool metal on his sweating palms. The pride of a Slytherin, not a Death Eater, flowed through his veins when he held it.

Sighing in content, he let his head sink into his pillow once again, and he was asleep soon after, praying silently that he wouldn't dream of that memory ever again.

"Harry sees the snitch!" cried Lee Jordan with enthusiasm. Everyone in the crowd gazed in wonder as Harry zoomed past the stands, just barely nicking a first year in the head with the bristles of his broom. The snitch was right in front of him; whizzing and whirling around like a golden fly. Carefully, he clenched his legs around the thin broom and outstretched a shaky arm towards the ball as far as he could. It was right at his fingertips, all he had to do was reach forward a tiny bit more, and…

"He caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!" exclaimed Lee Jordan. A large smile played across his face as Harry held up the tiny golden ball and cheered, causing everyone in the Gryffindor section to applaud and holler as well. He landed on the grass with a small _thud_, and was immediately scooped up by his team members and hoisted onto their shoulders. Shouts of "Potter! Potter! Potter!" filled the air as they made their way towards the changing rooms.

"Harry, that was phenomenal!" Ginny shouted as soon as his teammates put him safely on the tile floor of the changing rooms. She wrapped her arms around his neck for a hug. "They didn't stand a chance!"

Ginny pulled away from Harry and took a moment to look around her shoulder secretively before leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. Blood rushed to his cheeks faster than the flight of a whizzing snitch.

"Uh, heh, thanks," he responded, his voice cracking a little. She giggled nervously before pointing towards the girl's changing room.

"I've got to go, now. Good job again!" she shouted at him as she headed in the opposite direction. Harry merely waggled his fingers at her, clearly at a loss for words. He touched the spot on his cheek that she had kissed and smiled, before being practically tackled by Ron.

"Brilliant, Harry! Bloody brilliant!" said Ron happily. His face was flushed red as he continued, "How long was that game? Fifteen minutes? Slytherin didn't know what hit them!"

Harry could only laugh a little, feeling somewhat odd about the victory. It was true; the game had been extremely short. The Slytherin team seemed lackadaisical in their strategy and effort. It was almost as if Gryffindor had been playing against a bunch of first years in the middle of a lesson taught by Madame Hooch.

Meanwhile, Hermione was enclosed in a large mob of Gryffindors, still ecstatic about the outcome of the Quidditch game. Hurriedly, she pushed her way through the crowd and headed for the toilets, still out of breath from all of the screaming and cheering. She pushed a stall door open and locked it behind her, suddenly aware of the two other people in the bathroom. One had the recognizable, nasally voice of Pansy Parkinson, and the other was unknown.

"I mean, I haven't seen him in days!" Pansy exclaimed. "And I don't even know why he suddenly dropped out of Quidditch. He totally screwed our team over."

"Weren't you two an 'item'?" her friend asked, obviously finding that fact to be more important. Pansy sighed deeply.

"I guess," she replied idly. "But he doesn't even talk with me anymore. He doesn't talk with anyone, actually. The last time I saw him was on Tuesday evening after supper. But he wouldn't even walk to the common room with me. He said he would meet me in there, but he never did."

Pansy's friend made a 'hmm' noise, but didn't say a word. The washroom was silent for a moment; the only sound that could be heard was Pansy popping the top off of her mascara tube.

"You know what happened, don't you?" Pansy finally asked, sounding very grave. Her friend muttered a 'no'.

Hermione strained to look through the cracks of the stall to get a better feel of the conversation, but to no avail. Unluckily for her, Pansy was smart enough to lead her friend outside of the bathroom to reveal this bit of information. Hermione couldn't hold her curiosity; she burst out of the stall, washed her hands briefly, and ran for the door, hoping that they hadn't gone too far. They hadn't.

"Watch it!" Pansy exclaimed as Hermione pushed open the door and collided into her. Pansy's face contorted into that of disgust when she caught a glimpse of whom it was. Not even bothering with an apology, Hermione brushed past the two and turned a corner quickly. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to hear a portion of the conversation.

"… So _anyway_," Pansy began, obviously annoyed by Hermione's interruption. "Apparently he's gone missing. Or at least, he hasn't been in to the Ministry and everyone _claims _that they haven't seen him."

Pansy's voice was low, but Hermione knew her ears had not failed her. The friend seemed skeptical as she muttered something that sounded like, "_Missing_? Really?" Unfortunately, Pansy's voice was now in a whisper, and after long, it seemed as if the two gossiping girls had gone in separate directions. Hurriedly, Hermione power walked towards the common room, eager to share her news with Harry and Ron.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," Ron greeted her absentmindedly when she burst into the common room after having a particularly lengthy argument with the Fat Lady about the correct pronunciation of the new password "Flibbertigibbit".

"Great game," Hermione said to Ron and Harry, feeling rather flustered. She never ended up telling them about her run in with Draco a few evenings before, for her and Ron got in an argument the very next morning about her refusing to help him choose a potion for their project.

"Is something the matter?" asked Harry, still looking rather sweaty from the winning game. Sighing, she delved into what had happened that night she saw Draco, and the conversation she listened in on just moments ago.

"I saw that in the Daily Prophet!" Ron exclaimed, his face displaying a range of emotions. "Says that Lucius Malfoy has been missing for longer than a week, and no one knows where he is. The whole article was a bit fishy, actually. They don't seem to want to give out a lot of information."

"Lucius Malfoy isn't one to simply _go missing_, now, is he?" Hermione asked exasperatedly as she tucked a clump of bushy hair behind her ear.

"Where did you see Malfoy, Hermione?" asked Harry, changing the subject. "By the dungeons?"

"No, actually," she replied thoughtfully, racking her brain to remember exactly where he was. "I saw him just a few moments after I left…. He was on this floor."

Ron clicked his tongue. "D'you think he wanted to get into our common room?"

"No," said Hermione as she narrowed her eyes. "How could he, anyway? Even if he knew the password, the Fat Lady wouldn't let in a Slytherin."

The three stood there for quite some time, their faces scrunched up in concentration. The snap of a finger brought Ron and Hermione back to a right state. Harry whispered furtively, "The Room of Requirement is on this floor, isn't it?"

By eleven that night, Harry and Ron were already suited up in the Invisibility Cloak; only their heads were popping out of the thick fabric while they discussed their plan with Hermione. After finishing their homework, the three had decided to see if they could catch up with Draco and sneak into the Room of Requirement when he did. That is, if he was going to head up there tonight like he had when Hermione saw him.

Hermione had decided to stay in the common room for two reasons: because the trio had grown so much larger in the past few years that they barely fit in it together, and because she was, truthfully, a little scared of Malfoy. Out of the three of them, mudbloods were probably number one on his list of undesirables. She neglected to tell that to Ron and Harry, though.

At half past eleven, Hermione was whispering goodbye to them as they crept out of the common room and down the hallway. Careful not to make any noise whatsoever, they made there way towards the wall opposite of the Barnabus the Barmy tapestry and stared at the blank wall in front of them.

"Hermione said he was leaving here at around eleven thirty when she saw him that night," Ron whispered rather harshly, only to be shushed by Harry. For a while, they stood in front of the wall and waited, barely making a noise or moving a muscle. Then, they decided to sit a few feet in front of the wall. Nothing happened. They even tried pacing in front of the wall, thinking of things that Malfoy might need to get in there.

"It's getting late," Ron mumbled at around twelve thirty. Harry opened his mouth to respond, but stopped short. He suddenly couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. The hairs on his neck stood straight as he looked around, careful not to take any steps. There was no one there. Ron suddenly grew very stiff beside him as he whispered, "What is it, mate?"

"We should go back," he mouthed, as he pointed his thumb back in the direction of the common area. Ron looked at him confusedly. He was not the best of lip-readers.

"What?" Ron whispered anxiously. Harry shushed and muttered "c'mon" as he pulled Ron's arm in the opposite direction. Quietly tip-toeing, they re-entered the common room to find Hermione sitting in the exact same place they left her.

"So? What happened?" she asked immediately, wringing her hands together. The boys shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak and sighed, feeling utterly useless.

"Nothing," Ron commented, scratching the back of his ginger head. Hermione's shoulders fell drastically as Harry flung himself onto the couch.

"So he didn't show up, then?" Hermione asked. Harry fingered the silky cloth of the Invisibility Cloak as he shook his head. For a moment, he considered telling the others about the eerie feeling he felt while standing there, but he decided against it. It was probably nothing.

"Should we try again tomorrow?" Ron asked.

"Yes. But this time, I'm going too," Hermione stated defiantly. The boys didn't disagree, and just moments later, they were saying their 'goodnights'. For now, their investigation would have to wait.

"All right, everyone!" bellowed Professor Slughorn the next morning in Potions class. "I trust that you have all chosen your potions for presentation?"

The class gave a collective mutter.

"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed, clapping his pudgy hands together. "I will be coming around the classroom to record what you have chosen! Now, go gather your ingredients and start practicing! It must be perfect by the time you present."

Everyone hurriedly scrambled towards the small ingredients cupboard at the front of the room. Well, everyone except for Ron and Crabbe (who was already asleep).

"Students! The ingredients will restock themselves, there's no need to shove!" Slughorn shouted over the yells and cuss words coming from the front of the room. The hysteria died down as everyone returned to their desks with arms full of vials, beakers, tongs, animal parts, and anything else that they needed. Ron was busy flipping furiously through his own textbook to notice that Slughorn had arrived at his desk and was looking down at him expectedly. Ron gulped.

"Erm, hello sir," he greeted his professor. Slughorn smiled airily at him.

"What will you be brewing for your project, Mr. Whizzly?"

"Uh, um," Ron stammered, deciding on whether he should correct him on the pronunciation of "Weasley," or quickly blurt out the name of a random potion so Slughorn would go away. He did neither of those things. Instead he just stared up at his teacher blankly.

"Have you chosen a potion?" Slughorn asked with a concerned look on his face. Gulping, Ron gave one last pleading look at his textbook, as if the name of a potion would just blurt out of it. When it didn't, he shook his head solemnly. "I see… Well there happens to be one that I believe no one has claimed yet, Whizby."

"Really? Thanks, sir!" Ron exclaimed. Slughorn gave him a sly smile before scribbling something down on a piece of paper, folding it carefully, and placing it in the crease of Ron's textbook. Hermione, Harry, and a few other classmates huddled around him as he opened up the paper. _Draught of Living Death_ was written clearly on the small sheet.

"Draught of Living Death… sounds cool," Ron muttered. Hermione snorted a little. "What? What is it?"

"Only the most difficult potion found in our textbook!" she exclaimed with a blunt laugh. Ron frowned and ripped up his paper, blowing the little tiny pieces all around the classroom.

The class spent the rest of the hour huddled over their cauldrons, wincing as they poured in what they thought was the right amount of their ingredients. Billowing smoke of every color filled the room, as did a rather pungent smell coming from Ron's cauldron.

"I don't think it's supposed to do that," Harry joked as he stared at the dark orange substance swirling around the pot. Ron shoved his arm and mumbled cuss words under his breath.

"Well, I'm not the one making a love potion like a… like a sissy girl!" Ron retorted. Harry scowled and looked down at his bright magenta potion. It smelled like fresh laundry and coffee beans, but at least it was better than Ron's.

At the other side of the classroom, Draco Malfoy sat hunchbacked at his cauldron. Many thoughts were swimming through his head as he stirred the contacts of his pot unenthusiastically. A memory-erasing potion. Why hadn't he thought about it before? It would make it so much easier… kill, and then forget about it. No guilty conscience, right?

He sighed a long, hopeless sigh. He wasn't ready for this. Hurriedly, he flipped to a dog-eared page in his textbook. The words _Mors Mortis _stained the page like black coffee. Trailing his index finger along the ingredients list, he mentally checked off the ingredients he could grab from the Potions classroom. There were quite a few ingredients that he would have to find himself, but that was not a problem. He had no time to waste; he would have to start brewing tonight.

**A/N: If you don't remember, the Mors Mortis potion is from the previous chapter, in case you were confused! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorrryyy for the super late update. I hope this one is alright!**

"_You have failed me, Lucius." _

_Draco stared in awe as his father and that serpent-like man stood facing each other. His mother stood just a few feet away, looking completely stoic. Well, almost. Her mouth was the only thing that gave away her fear; it quivered uncontrollably, so she resorted to covering her mouth with her bony hand. _

"_Lord, I-" his father began. He had never heard Lucius speak in such a manner._

"_I have no need for your excuses," whispered the man. His slit-like nostrils flared uncontrollably, and his mouth was pursed tightly. Draco couldn't even bother to look up at the scene unfolding. Instead, he stared down at his feet and attempted to ignore what was going on in his very own living room._

_He had hated these meetings. His father had always insisted that it be necessary for him to sit in and listen, for one day, he would be in their position. The boy stared down at his hands and traced the lifelines that were scattered on his palms. Everything would be wrapping up soon, he thought. Then he could change out of those starchy, uncomfortable clothes he was forced to wear. And he could eat a hot meal. He smiled a little bit at the thought._

"_You have failed me," the man repeated once more, his voice increasing in rigidity. This time, Draco looked up. For some reason, he suddenly couldn't shake the feeling of dread from his shoulders. He had no idea if it was the way Voldemort had spoken, or maybe the battered look on his father's face. _

"_I understand, my Lord. It won't happen again," his father replied, looking deeply sincere in his words. _

"_How can I trust you, Lucius? How can I be sure that you can get the job done?" the man continued. Like a grade school bully, his taunting seemed to give him joy and accomplishment. The frown was now clearly etched onto his smooth face, and his teeth were just barely visible under that scowling mouth. And yet, his eyes were bright and curled upward like his very innards were smiling. Draco's mother drew in a sharp breath, as if she had been pierced in the back. _

_The "Lord" had brandished his wand, and was now holding it carelessly between his index and middle finger. He gripped onto it so sloppily that one would have thought it to be a lit cigarette, or even a quill. _

_The boy's father looked at the wand with wide eyes, but tried his hardest to keep his composure. The man in front of him licked his cracked lips carefully before grinning a little._

"_Crucio." _

_Watching as his father dropped to the floor, Draco could barely suppress a gasp. At his feet, his father began to convulse and seize. His glassy, gray eyes stared up at his son in terror and pain, asking to be released from the curse. Draco could only sit in his seat on the couch and stare. Paralyzed._

_His mother let out an awful noise; a noise that sounded like she too had been hit with the Cruciatus curse. Her knees trembled horrifically as she watched her husband grind his teeth and shut his eyes very tightly. The rest of the people in the living room simply watched; the display could have been a dull sitcom on the television._

_Finally, he stopped convulsing. For a moment, he stayed on the ground, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to get up or not. Then, he hoisted himself onto his arms and knees. His usual stern face was completely and utterly broken; his eyes glistened with painful tears and his mouth was shuddering hysterically. Draco had never seen anything like it before, and it made him want to vomit. _

_Without notice, his father grasped onto his arm with such a large force that the boy was almost pulled onto the ground himself. _

"_Listen to me…" he croaked as his fingers dug deep into his son's arm. "Obey him, Draco. If it's the last thing you do, obey."_

His words were so desperate that Draco wasn't even sure that they belonged to his own father. The man who held the wand so haphazardly in his hand was now grinning triumphantly, baring his tinted teeth. His father was gripping his forearm so hard that Draco's hand was turning red and his veins were protruding significantly.

_An awful, strangled noise came from his mother, who was now completely unconcerned with keeping a calm façade. Her hands were clasped over her trembling mouth and her eyes had begun to water profusely. _

"_Avada Kedavra."_

_Those words were said so carelessly that he could have been saying something as simple as "hello". In fact, the boy wasn't even sure that he had said it at all until a bolt of emerald radiance erupted from the tip of his wand. The force engulfed Lucius, who jolted for a moment and then collapsed. The hand that had once gripped so tightly on his son's arm had gone limp. A trail of fingerprints burned onto Draco's skin from the shock of the curse, but he didn't even seem to notice. Instead, he stared down at his dead father on the floor and felt like he was choking. _

_His mother was sobbing in an odd manner. He had never seen any such emotion erupt from her, and it seemed that she too was uncertain. Nevertheless, she clutched her hands together for dear life, and her eyes were streaming smoky gray tears down her cheeks. She didn't make a noise, though. She was suddenly too afraid to sob outwardly._

_Draco's vision seemed to go in slow motion as the murderer of his father slipped his wand back into his flowing cape. Tears lined his eyes but he didn't dare let them fall; instead, he allowed them to well up in his sockets until he couldn't see a thing anymore. The man in front of him was nothing but a blur now; his twisted smile was no longer visible through the salty tears. The only thing he could see clearly was the body on the floor that had already grown cold and unmoving. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and pretend that it never happened, but the evidence was right in front of him. Lucius was dead, and his murderer had a favor to ask of him._

* * *

><p>For the second time that week, Draco woke up from an awful fit with sweat dripping down his forehead. His stomach clenched violently inside of him, and it caused him to grasp onto the sheets below his body. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of something else, <em>anything <em>else, to get his mind off of that night. He just couldn't shake that image out of his mind, and it was driving him absolutely nuts.

Restlessly, he stood and checked the time on his wristwatch. Only half-past eleven. Lately he had been so exhausted that he had been heading to bed right after dinner, for he knew he would probably wake in the middle of the night anyway. The only thing that could get his mind off of that morose memory was his task. There was still a heated debate going on in his mind about whether or not he was going to do it.

_I have to do it_, he thought to himself. _If I don't, he'll kill me as well._

But his conscience was vehemently arguing against that point. He couldn't do it; he wasn't ready to murder. No matter how convincing of a façade he put on, he knew deep down that he wasn't equipped to kill. But for now he would try to convince himself that he was brave, and that he wasn't going to wimp out in the long run.

Hurriedly, he ruffled through his trunk and pulled out his somewhat tarnished, silver and green prefect badge and a pair of robes. He had no idea how the badge had gotten so rusty in just a year, and he didn't really give a damn. It felt so odd to pin that badge onto his robes and hold his head high like he was a good student, but he did it anyway. He had become a great actor.

Tiptoeing carefully, he left, figured that the badge would give him an excuse to be roaming the halls.

It wasn't a long walk up to the seventh floor, but it seemed grueling when all Draco could think about was his deceased father. He hated that ashen color of his skin just moments after that wretched spell was uttered… it was like all of the life had drained out of his body like the milk out of a spilled carton. Draco rubbed his right arm tentatively, for it seemed to throb every time he thought of that night.

As soon as he entered the Room of Requirement, he rolled up his sleeve and examined the burn marks on his forearm. He traced his pale finger along the red lines, but then quickly pulled his sleeve back down. He was sick of reminiscing.

The room before him was small and rather cluttered, but he always felt better when he found refuge in this place. An old bookshelf rested in the corner with five or six Potion's books, and a cauldron sat in the middle. The only other pieces of furniture were a cupboard and two chairs. Draco slipped off his robes and threw them onto a desolate chair in the corner before walking towards the cauldron. It was only just two days ago that he had decided poisoning would be the best way. Quick, painless, and he didn't even have to see the light leave their eyes like his father's had.

Rather restlessly, he grabbed a book off the shelf and flipped to the dog-eared page.

"Mors Mortis…" he said aloud as he trailed his finger down the ingredients list for the millionth time in the past few days. The potion took a week to brew, and he knew he had to get started soon. He had all the necessary ingredients for the first few days, and soon he would be receiving the rest of them from his father's old messenger owl.

It was one thing to kill, but it was another to kill out of fear. Draco wasn't sure what was worse, but he was sure that the knot in his stomach wouldn't unravel until he made a decision.

* * *

><p>The only sound to be heard in the dark, vacant corridor was the faint pitter-patter of footsteps coming from none other than Hermione Granger. She couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu as she prowled the halls of the seventh floor with her prefect badge shining brightly on her chest, keeping her eyes peeled for a certain blonde Slytherin. She was determined to catch Malfoy this time. As she neared the Room of Requirement, the hair on her neck rose very slowly. She wondered if he was in there.<p>

For a long while, she stood staring at the blank wall, wondering why Draco would possibly want access to the Room of Requirement. Her thoughts reeled as she considered the options. _It could be anything_, she thought. Maybe if she just thought of all the possibilities, a door would eventually appear.

After a few moments, Hermione's train of thought was interrupted by a sudden, violent shiver that rolled up her entire spine. Was she being… watched?

"Hello?" she called meekly.

Nothing. Wringing her hands together, she tried to focus on the blank wall in front of her. _It's just your imagination_, she told herself. _Stop letting it get the best of you_.

With all of her might, she tried to shove those thoughts out of her mind. But she couldn't; there definitely seemed to be a presence in her immediate vicinity. In the distance, she heard a cat's meow.

"Mrs. Norris," she muttered to herself. The red-eyed beast padded up the hallway, and stopped smugly at her feet. Following the cat was none other than Filch, the ragged groundskeeper.

"What d'you think you're doing out here?" he asked angrily, his lips curling over bright yellow teeth.

"Oh… I heard some commotion, so I had to check it out," she replied as nonchalantly as she could, pointing to her shiny badge "I am a prefect, after all."

Filch snorted. "Yeh, and I'm the Minister of Magic!" he exclaimed, laughing at his own little joke. Mrs. Norris meowed as if she were laughing as well. "I know you're up to something, Granger. You and your little friends better not cause trouble this year, you hear me? Now get out of here!"

Hurriedly, she walked back to the common room without another word. Filch always had to ruin important things like this. She slipped into the common room, still trying to shake the feeling that she was being watched, and not by Mrs. Norris or Filch. No, there had definitely been more than the three of them in the hallway.

* * *

><p>"So, Filch caught you?" asked Ron as soon as Hermione got back into the common room. With a sigh, she flopped onto the couch next to him and blew a strand of wiry hair out of her face.<p>

"Yes, but to be honest… I kind of wanted to get away from that spot. It just felt like I was being –"

"Watched?" Harry asked, feeling a familiar creeping sensation run up his spine. Hermione nodded vehemently.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, rubbing at the goosepimples on her arms. Harry nodded all-knowingly. It hadn't exactly been a threatening presence, but it was there, and that was enough to spook the three of them.

"I don't know about this anymore," Hermione told them after a long while. The boys cocked their heads to the side, as if to ask why. "I mean, I don't want to risk getting in trouble over something that's probably not a big deal."

"Of course," said Ron spitefully. "There you go again, fussing about the rules. We're in the midst of battle here, Hermione!"

"No, we're not," she snapped. "And I'd rather not have my prefect privileges revoked for snooping around in something that most likely has nothing to do with our _present situation_."

"Yeah, well what if it does?" Harry spat suddenly, his face turning a bright shade of magenta. "I don't want anyone else killed because we weren't careful enough."

"But we _were_!" exclaimed Hermione. "There was nothing you could have done about Siriu-"

"_Don't_," he said threateningly. After a few moments of heated eye contact, he added, "I'm going upstairs."

With a huff, he snatched his Potions textbook into his arms and headed for the stairs, not bothering with any sort of "goodnight". Ron followed close behind after a few sheepish looks towards Hermione.

She exhaled deeply and sunk backwards into the couch, folding her hands across her stomach. The more she thought about the Malfoy situation, the more uneasy she got… and getting in his business was most likely the last thing she wanted to do. With a tight knot still stuck in her stomach, she too stood and headed for her bed, hoping that everything would blow over in the morning.

**A/N: Tell me your thoughts!**


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